Fuel
by MissCrookedSmile
Summary: Nightwing and Robin are fixing up an old Batmobile. It makes Batman think of the time when Jason was Robin. Happy reminiscing, male bonding and good fun for all.


He was leaning against the wall, already in costume but hadn't put on the mask and cape yet. In his hand he had his second cup of Alfred's freshly brewed coffee. The sun would soon set and the patrol around Gotham would begin. No sign from any villains, no particular clue had pointed towards tonight, so he was considering whether to give the boys another hour to mend the vehicle.

"Oh, do let the boys have another crack at it" Alfred said, having read his master's mind as usual. He placed another tray of tea and coffee on the table. In the middle was one bowl of Tim's favorite biscuits, and on its right a plate of homemade cinnamon buns – Dick's favorite. He loved to spoil the boys.

"Master Richard is so rarely here when there is no business of yours to attend to. Let Timothy enjoy it for another short while."

Bruce smiled a little, then handed his empty cup for Alfred to refill.

"Alright. Just half an hour."

"Tea, sir? It is better for you-" Alfred said politely, already filling Bruce's cup with the best Lady Grey money could buy.

"Coffee, please" Bruce answered without noticing the lighter brew being poured into his mug. He was too busy looking at Dick and Tim.

"Press the light-fuel button" Richard yelled from under the car. Tim leaned in the window and pressed a button that made the old batmobile cough. Bruce had promised Tim that if he could fix the old car, and make it safe enough for today's standards, Tim could have it when he passed his driver's test. It was only three weeks away now and Tim had called upon Dick for help. He didn't want Bruce involved in this and Bruce respected that. Plus he did really enjoy seeing his two boys bent over an old car.

Dick yelled again from under the belly of the rusty beast.

"This thing is almost an antique! The fuel pipe must be from at least the 1980's… Actually, I don't even remember this car."

He rolled out in order to send a condescending look to Bruce.

"How old _are _you?"

He quickly rolled in under the car again, still yelling out complaints. Tim got down on one knee laughing. He had picked out the car himself from a long line-up of old models. It was an almost limousine-like sleek, black car with batwings right behind the two doors. It wasn't as "tank-like" as some of the other batmobiles, he explained.

Bruce enjoyed his choice. It was one of his first cars as Batman. He and Alfred had worked on Lucius Fox's prototype for weeks for it to be modified to his special needs. That damn line shaft just wouldn't fit as he recalled. And the crankcase kept leaking oil when driving more than 160 km/h.

"They might get it this time" Bruce said to Alfred when he saw Tim handing Dick the right set of tools for what he had analyzed the problem to be.

"Let's hope not." The old butler said before turning around and walking towards the stairs.

"Why would you say that?" Bruce said in sudden surprise.

"Excuse me sir, but you and the boys are having too much fun for this to already be over."

Bruce made a small grunt, his version of a giggle. Alfred took in the compliment before leaving the cave. He needed his strength for later in the night when the three men would return home with smaller or greater injuries.

"Bruce?" Tim called out, catching his mentor's attention.

"The crankcase is busted. We can't get the oil pressure high enough."

"And that's just one of the problems" Dick yelled, still banging on something.

"The power steering can be easily adjusted, and I don't need the turbo-rocket function anyhow." Tim apparently explained to the hood of the car - his eyes pointed at the place where Dick's voice was coming from. He turned his attention back to Bruce.

"I was thinking about taking the crankcase from the car without the hub caps. Even though it's younger, I think it's the same basic design. You know, the one that just looks like a sports car with batwings anyway."

Tim pointed at a rusty car in one of the back rows. He didn't need to. Bruce immediately knew which one he was talking about. It was the one Jason had been given to customize many years ago.

Jason had been hard to control. Bruce had often yelled at him in the field, and not to stop him from getting hurt, as he would with Tim, or even Dick back in the days, but to protect the boy's combatants.

Alfred had proposed that the young man might calm down if Bruce would spend some time with him. Maybe he would listen if Bruce just got under his skin?

Jason had always been into cars. He had been stealing parts for survival when Bruce first met him. Bruce had already at that point spent a lot of hours bent over the hood of one of the Batmobiles because Jason had heard a funny noise or wanted to adjust or calibrate something. It seemed natural to give him the task of modifying one of the batmobiles, knowing Jason wouldn't work on something that wasn't going to be put to good use. "No training exercises" he would say, if it became too obvious that Bruce was holding back. "What good is this if I can't translate it to the field?"

Jason knew a lot about cars for a boy his age, but he didn't have all the technical knowledge one needed to alter this type of car, which is where Bruce came in. The two of them spent a lot of time tweaking and discussing different type of equipment; Jason explaining his ideas, Bruce explaining their limitations.

After the incident with Felipe Garzonasa, Jason didn't seem that interested in cars. He never admitted being responsible for the ambassadors murder. He never refused it either. Then again, Bruce only asked him once.

After that night they would more often scream at each other than look at air filters and shock absorbers.

"I can't even imagine why you hang on to that one, except for parts." Tim continued with both oil soiled hands planted on his hips.

Bruce had a hard time getting rid of things that reminded him of Jason. He even nurtured the bad memories, like the ones associated with Jason's old punching ball. It had several wholes and stitch-ups because he always let it out on the poor sack of sand after one of their many "talks". And this particular car… It had been a turning point in his and Jason's relationship in many ways.

"Can't I get a look at it first?" Bruce finally said after having gazed at the car for too long to not let the boys notice.

"Sure" Tim said, even though he had promised himself not to let Bruce get his hands on it. He always looked for a new way to show Bruce he was worthy. Worthy of his cape and cowl, worthy as a predecessor to the lost son… Luckily Dick came to his rescue. He rolled out from under the car, waving a wrench in the air.

"No, no, no! You go play with your own toys! You only want this one because we're using it."

Dick got up on his feet. It was hard to find a square inch not covered with either oil or gasoline on his entire body. Even his ponytail was beginning to shine from the car grease.

"Don't be stupid, Dick. Let me look at it" Bruce continued, waving his old ward aside with one hand, still nonchalantly holding the mug of coffee in the other.

He had never been able to talk like that to Jason. Jason had been almost as proud and arrogant as Bruce himself. Or at least that's what Alfred said.

"The only problem is he looks too much like yourself" Alfred had pointed out one night after a particularly gruesome fight between Bruce and Jason. He had meant it as a comfort. It had quite the opposite effect.

Bruce knew the desire to make the world pay for one's own loss all too well. But the similar feelings never created a bond between the two. It just reminded them how miserable they both were.

"Why can't we just do as Tim says?" Dick asked while drying sweat off of his forehead. He left a long line of oil instead.

Jason had removed the hub caps just after they began to investigate the track that had led to his mother. It was the first time since Felipe Garzonasa that Jason had touched or even shown interest in one of the cars. And it had only been a week or two before they left for Ethiopia.

"Not that one" Bruce said sternly. "Anyone but that one." He took a resolute sip of his mug, immediately making a face of disgust.

"Damn Pennyworth and his tea."


End file.
